Lord Christ, I wish I could offer you A reasonably clean And swept house To dwell in, But I can’t. I can say—and know the meaning of — “I am not worthy to have you come under my roof…” But you are already there! Living among the once-flourishing idols, The floor is dirty And at times the room is airless— Even for me! I am ashamed of your presence there, Yet you slept in a cave And on a donkey’s back at night Under the desert stars. So, if I can’t change your accommodations, Let me rejoice all the same That you are present. I must believe strongly, Lord, That I can’t question this: That you are at home With sinners— And my greatest sin, Lord Christ, Is that I don’t want to be a sinner! Nor do I easily accept it—still, The evidence Is overwhelming. But hope is like a green shoot In the midst of an airless, disordered world. And that hope comes from your Spirit. I rest in that hope, Lord.